A Sword without a Master
by DuckofIndeed
Summary: It's often a dull and lonely existence as a sword spirit, especially when your Master's been banished to another realm for the last several centuries. Just a oneshot from Ghirahim's POV during the events of "Twilight Princess".


Hello, all. This is my very first story featuring the most fabulous Ghirahim (and my first "Zelda" fan fic, as well). I decided it would be best, before I started writing the other ideas I had for him, to get some practice writing for him and getting into his head (even if it's pretty scary in there), so then the idea popped into my head about writing his thoughts during the events of "Twilight Princess", as he waits for a Master that never comes. And do you have any idea how that makes him feel?...

All characters, locations, events, etc. are property of Nintendo, not I, of course. And beware of major spoilers for "Twilight Princess" and "Ocarina of Time". And I apologize if some details are a bit confusing, but they involve the new timeline Nintendo created to tie all the games together. Which is both interesting and convoluted at the same time. And a few details are just weird things I made up to explain stuff.

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**A Sword without a Master**

The foothills of Death Mountain were a most treacherous landscape, about as dangerous as the great volcano whose peak could be seen across the land of Hyrule, to bring a strange sense of dread to all who laid eyes upon it. Many were the dangers of Death Mountain and its surrounding mountains and valleys, and many were its secrets. While the rock-eating tribe of the Gorons knew many of these, most of which they kept to themselves, there were some that not even they were aware of. And it was one such secret that was, perhaps, the most deadly thing about this mountain range of all.

Amidst some forgotten slope, a place whose existence was known, until recently, to only a select few, but even less now, was an alcove, hidden away amongst the barren hills the Eldin Province was known for. It wasn't a large alcove, not even large enough to be called a cave, but it was enough to provide shade to any weary traveler that might pass by, as rare as that was in such a forsaken spot. Lack of travelers or not, however, the shade was the only thing that was welcoming about this particular alcove. Because only one thing dwelt here, and while he appeared to the untrained eye as a mere man, a teenager, actually, of no more than 17, looks could be deceiving, as the saying went, and there were few for which such a saying could be more accurate.

However, right now it appeared that the usual resident of this slope was not present, the only thing around that obviously didn't belong here a sword, set upright with the end of the blade thrust into the soil beneath, the overhanging earth of the semi-cave to give it shade from the mid-morning sun. It was a most unusual sword, dark in color, even the jagged blade nearly black, with an upside down image of the Triforce etched upon it. It was clear this blade was not something to be taken lightly, as its sinister appearance only hinted at the nature of the one that dwelt here with it. And it could be either of these two, the blade or the seemingly young man, or, as was far more likely the case, both, that chilled the blood of any who had the misfortune of wandering here, and more often than not, they were the last things these unfortunate fools ever saw.

And while this sword had resided for none knew how long, none except for the man it belonged to, in these dusty foothills, the blade shown as if polished yesterday, and in fact, it had been, for this was no ordinary weapon, not that any who laid eyes upon it would dare think otherwise. Yes, this was a very special sword, deserving of very special care, and while the resident of this place appeared to be away, he was, in fact, still here, for looks could indeed be most deceiving.

A flash of diamonds and the young man could be seen standing before the blade where before no one had been. He, like the sword, was most unusual, a red mantle with a high collar worn over white that fit him like a second skin, diamond cutouts running up and down the length of his slender legs, with two others on his torso and chest to show the muscles beneath. While his skin was of such a pallor as to shed doubt that any blood flowed beneath and the hair he had cut to hang over one eye purest white, his eyes were dark, their centers blacker even than the mysterious blade, with no color to be seen in them.

The corner of his pale lips twitched into a half grin, and he knelt down on one knee before the sword, outstretching a gloved hand to wipe away any dust that could even think about settling upon its blade before withdrawing his hand to admire the reflection he saw looking back at him. His grin widened, for gazing upon his own pure face never grew old, his perfect face, the most exquisite thing he had ever laid eyes upon in his long existence, and that was saying something when the young man was going on a couple thousand years old. The blade, as well, was equally as divine as he was, truly a sight to behold, for they were one and the same, the man and the sword sharing the same identity, for he _was_ the sword, and it was him. He was the spirit of this blade, forged millennia ago, and as far as he was concerned, he, the sword and his spirit form, was as close to perfection as anything could ever get.

He gave the slightest giggle at this most pleasing of thoughts, eyes eclipsed for a second by eyelids rimmed with purple, and extended a slender arm once more to brush the tips of his fingers along the blade's edge before rising to his feet with utmost grace. Yes, he was a most beautiful thing, and he could only imagine that it was not just fear that caused travelers to be struck with paralysis in his presence, but the mere perfection that was the Demon Lord. At least, that was the title he had gone by long ago, back when he had ruled the Surface, a term that was obsolete now that humans no longer lived in the sky, just the infuriatingly passive Ooccoo. It was a self-proclaimed title, he was fine with admitting to that, but he still enjoyed using it on occasion, even now, as servants rarely got the opportunity for such self-indulgence, and he could never pass up a chance to spoil himself whenever possible. And it wasn't as if the title was undeserved, for he was indeed a demon, and he had, in fact, been a lord. The fact that it was a title he had rewarded unto himself didn't make it any less accurate.

But, now that his once vast kingdom was under the control of the humans again (a pity, as he was less than impressed with what they had done with the place), the seemingly young man had one final thing he could still go by, and that was the name of Ghirahim, a word he found to be most pleasing to the ears, and so it wasn't nearly as upsetting that he couldn't, except when left to himself, add his past title to it.

Ghirahim let out an intake of breath, before turning on his heel to stroll away from his blade, the heat of the sun greeting him as he left the shade of his alcove, a heat that was part of the reason for why this place was so barren and devoid of anything but scrub and the toughest of creatures, but it didn't so much as faze him as he began to hum a peculiar tune to himself, a spring to his step as he ascended the slope of a nearby hill. He halted once he reached the top, gazing out upon nothing but ruddy rock set beneath an endless expanse of blue. It wasn't the most interesting place in the world, but it was where he had ended up, and if his guess was anywhere near accurate, he had been forced to endure this monotony for several centuries now. And the landscape surrounding him had hardly changed in all that time. There had been no transformation of _any_ kind out here since the world began, actually, and he would know, as he had indeed been alive since then.

While a combination of wind and Death Mountain's frequent eruptions had certainly made their mark on the landscape, it still did little to make any noticeable difference in this terribly featureless place. And while a few villages had been built up over the millennia, it seemed they were always destined to be abandoned when the inhabitants were either forced to flee when the volcano was in one of its more violent moods or when they eventually developed enough sense to just go somewhere else. Quite frankly, Ghirahim would never understand why anyone would ever _want_ to spend any kind of prolonged time here if they didn't have to, but from what he had witnessed of the human race, they were still a primitive lot, even after all these countless centuries, and so he couldn't expect their ways of thinking to make any sense to someone of his vastly superior intellect.

And while he couldn't see it, one such human settlement did indeed rest in the direction he was currently facing, nestled up ahead amongst the jagged peaks and smoother hills that also served to keep the place hidden from him. And though he couldn't draw much nearer than he was now, as he could only wander so far from his sword, and he couldn't move it, as lifting oneself was impossible, he could still sense what went on down there, his dowsing ability granting him the certainty that only one resident remained in that place, as surely as if he could see her with his own keen eyes. The village in question was Kakariko Village, or quite possibly _Old_ Kakariko Village by now, as another town, whose residents emitted a similar aura as those who used to live in this one, had been erected elsewhere, and while he could only feel that place as a mere pinprick off in the distance, he knew from past experience to always trust his instincts.

And the lone woman that still remained down there, while he did not know her name, he could tell that she was a Sheikah, and not just because that was the tribe he knew to once live in that place, and now the newer village off in the distance, but also because she bore an aura similar to a certain Sheikah he had once met, a dog by the name of Impa who had once made life very difficult for him a good many centuries ago. But, fortunately, _that_ woman was long dead, and he didn't sense nearly the same power coming from the decrepit old crone he knew to be down in that village.

Ghirahim dropped down to lie on his stomach on the rock and the short, sparse grass, arms folded in front of him. Yes, this was a _painfully_ monotonous place, and the only way he could prevent himself from going mad with boredom was to kill the time with sleep or to simply lie here, as he had done on countless occasions prior, to see what he could sense from the hidden village ahead of him. The place once had far more life than it did now, of course, but not terribly long ago, that all changed when a band of Bulblins overran the village, killing or chasing away all the residents but the old woman.

And as he mused over why someone of such a meek and pointless existence was so bent on staying alone in a village overrun by monsters, it became quite clear to him what she was apparently waiting for when a familiar aura, a far _too_ familiar aura, arrived in that village some time ago. This person, who then proceeded to wipe out every last Bulblin in the place, had been accompanied by a Twili, a Twili _princess_, if he wasn't mistaken, and he rarely was, but he cared little about her or how she managed to survive in the Light Realm. What he _did_ care about, however, what absolutely _disturbed_ him, was that this person was the Sky Child that had defeated him and his first Master, the Demon King Demise, so very long ago. No, it wasn't _that_ Sky Child, but rather, his descendant, but that was just as distressing.

He had met this boy countless times throughout history, a mere child, a mere _worm_, that he should have been able to crush between the tips of his fingers like a worm, but somehow, every time, every _single_ time, this _insect_ of a human managed to defeat his Masters. No matter how powerful those he served were, and no matter how inconsequential the so-called "hero's" existence seemed to be, he prevailed every time, leaving him, the Demon Lord, to fade away, only to reappear some unknown time later, in some location he could never predict, to once again wait out the centuries before his next Master found him. If his hair wasn't so pristine, he would tear it out from the sheer frustration this seemingly inescapable fate caused him. And what only made his mood worse, what increased his rage to the point where it boiled inside him, was the complete opposite luck his counterpart had.

For there was one more aura he had felt down in that village, with the vermin of a boy and the Twili, and that was Fi. She was the only other being in existence like him, another sword spirit, also known as the Master Sword. While they were both forged around the same time, back when the planet was but in its earliest years, the two of them couldn't have been more different. There were times he pitied her, yes, for she had not been blessed with emotions as he had been and had also never been joined with her blade and given the freedom to wander unencumbered, a state he had been granted on a few rare occasions in the past and which would have been quite welcome right now. And though she was beautiful, she was nowhere near as perfect as he, and so it was no wonder that she was far less sociable, as well.

And he really could never understand why the goddess had not, in her "divine wisdom", blessed Fi with such things, but it mattered not. All that _did_ matter was that his first Master had encouraged Ghirahim to embrace what his opposite had never been given, as the Demon King knew that a weapon _with_ emotions was far more dangerous than one without them. And that was the very thing that made Ghirahim a far superior blade, for he actually _enjoyed_ killing, while Fi could somehow remain utterly impassionate about the whole affair. Yes, sometimes he did indeed pity her, that she had never truly been allowed to live as he had, and it was a shame, when she was one of the only other beings that had ever come anywhere close to being his equal.

But, there were also times when he felt quite the opposite about her. Sometimes it drove him to the brink of despair when he thought about how _her_ Masters never failed. That she could face him in battle a hundred, no, a thousand times, and always win! It wasn't fair! _He_ wanted to know what it felt like to be the victor! He _deserved_ it, as the superior sword, it was _owed_ to him! It made him positively _sick_ to think that she always got what was rightfully his! It was _her_ Master's blood that should be spilled upon the ground! It was _her_ Master whose life should be snuffed out, for their heart to still and their body to grow cold!

And once, just once, he wanted to feel _her_ pain and that of her Master's. He wanted to sense a tremor of disbelief run through her as her Master was struck down. He wanted to feel her anguish when her Master died in the dirt at her feet, their life slipping away just as the blood drained from their body. He yearned for the day he got such an opportunity, if it ever came, and yet what only made it worse, even more infuriating, even more _intolerable_, was that she probably _still_ wouldn't feel these things even if his Master _did_ win. Because she never felt _anything_!

Countless times they faced each other in battle, and while he could admire the beauty of her form even as they fought, not once did she ever take notice of him. Not once did she ever pay any attention to how truly exquisite _he_ was, and not once did it ever occur to her that she was his inferior. Nevertheless, he longed to see her again. Every time, he would anticipate their next meeting, and every time, he would try to sense just one sliver of emotion within her, just one, but every time, she remained…indifferent. And that was what enraged him most of all. Not just because her Masters always won, but because…because… Why does _he_ care when she doesn't? Why do their meetings mean nothing to her? Does she think she's _better_ than him? If anything, she should be honored to face a blade so clearly above her! His mere presence should leave her humbled!

And yet, _he_ was the one tormented with nothing in life but boredom and dissatisfaction. The only time he felt alive, truly alive, was when he was being used to kill his Master's enemies, but those moments were few and far between. And in the meantime, Fi could rest easy, knowing she had fulfilled her purpose and that her next Master, by some cruel twist of fate, would once again emerge victorious, while _his_ Master was doomed to be slaughtered, and _he_ was fated to be discarded once again, as if he was nothing. And he knew that wasn't so. He was not nothing.

He ran his fingers through his bangs several times before resting his cheek on one fist with a sigh as he directed a forlorn stare at nothing in particular (as there was nothing worth staring at out here to begin with!). Yes, he had sensed Fi and her Master just some time ago, and yet, here he was, doing nothing but waiting in this hideous landscape, forced to take shelter whenever that accursed volcano decided to spew ash for the fifth time that day! He was the Demon Lord. Even if his title was no longer valid, as much as it grieved him to admit that he was not the lord of _anything_ anymore, he still _was_ the Demon Lord, because he was the most perfect weapon in all of creation. So, where was _his_ Master? Why did _she_ have one, when she was less deserving, and he didn't?

He dropped his hand back down, eyes narrowing at yet another thought that had been threatening to consume him in his idleness, and that was the question of why he always seemed to get such _incompetent_ Masters. For many of them, no, _all_ of them were, since all of them failed. Could it be that he was just not picky enough? Oh, but there were times when he had gone so long without bloodshed, without someone to wield him, that he yearned to serve a new Master so desperately that he would choose anyone that bore some semblance of power. But, once his thirst for blood was quenched long enough for him to realize just how beneath him his newest Master was, he would only find himself filled with such regret at his impulsive decision. Not that his choice of Masters really seemed to matter in the end anyway, however, when they were all destined to share the same fate in the end regardless.

Oh, but he really should be more careful with who he chose to be his Master. The demon closed his eyes as he attempted to slow his thoughts. It was shameful how truly foolish he could be sometimes. How he could be so anxious for a Master that he would grant even someone undeserving power over himself like that. In some ways Fi was lucky her lack of emotions saved her the heartache his so often created for him. _She_ never had to feel restless. _She_ didn't have the lust for battle that _he_ did, that caused him to make decisions he wasn't always pleased with. Just so he could get one small taste of what he had been so desperately missing, a temporary pleasure before it was inevitably snatched away from him yet again.

But, it was _easy_ to find a Master to wield him in battle. It wasn't always terribly difficult to find one that was at least _half_-competent, either. What he had _never_ been able to find, what he been seeking for millennia with no success, was someone to recognize him for the perfect creature he was and to give him the praise he deserved. Even Fi couldn't give that to him, and her rather frustrating, ever-present cold logic should have shown her how very worthy of praise he was. He could worship himself all he wanted, but it couldn't hurt if someone else did the same for once. Oh, but humans were such insufferably _stupid_ things (and how repugnant to think that most of his Masters had been of such a vile race), hardly better than mindless animals, and he supposed it was a pointless thing to ask for, as he knew from experience that they wouldn't know perfection if it stabbed them through the chest, quite literally.

A shadow fell over Ghirahim's face, and his eyelids lifted the slightest amount, his dark eyes remaining largely hidden. That still brought him back to the very pressing issue of just where in the world his next Master was. Or to be more accurate, his _last_ Master, for he could still feel the bond the two of them shared, like a thread connecting them across a distance even _he_ couldn't gauge. If his Master was dead, the thread would have snapped, but instead, it only hung slack, and while he was hardly any more fond of this Master than his previous ones, this one at least was powerful, despite being a mere human, and so, even after all these centuries, he wasn't ready to abandon hope just yet.

For his Master was the King of the Gerudo, known as Ganondorf, and while this one had been particularly abusive (though, aren't they all?) and was of the same repulsive species that he so abhorred, the same race as that wretched Sky Child, Ghirahim couldn't quite justify giving up so easily on a mortal who could survive his own execution, and then go on to live centuries more in some other dimension, for that was surely where he was right now, most likely the Twilight Realm, though he couldn't be certain, as his dowsing didn't extend that far.

Yes, this was one Master he may have underestimated, and no matter how much he detested the man, he was not someone the demon could pass up. Even though he really hadn't expected much when they first met, back when the man was still young, not much older than the current "hero" (how jaded he was becoming after putting up with Masters that were good at nothing more but impaling themselves on blades), Ghirahim had sensed a power within him that was uncommon for the average human, especially one not of Hylian descent. And he couldn't help but be intrigued when the young man expressed a desire to obtain the Triforce one day, the same goal the Demon King Demise himself once had, and it was then that the former Demon Lord knew that it was fate that brought the two of them together, and he had accepted the Gerudo as his newest Master.

But, of course, as so often happens, his Master's goals were not to be realized, though Ghirahim had the strangest feeling that, in some alternate life, his Master _had_ obtained the Triforce, that he _had_ transformed Hyrule into a land of darkness, and that he _had_ reigned over it, but the demon knew that couldn't be, because what he knew to be true, what he had seen with his own eyes, was his Master attempting to invade Hyrule, only to be captured and sentenced to death, not just because of the failed attack, but because some pair of children, that had no right knowing what they did, had revealed to the King of Hyrule his Master's plans to make the Triforce his.

And then Ghirahim found himself waiting out his Master's last days in a room separate from the Gerudo's cell, racking his brain for some idea as to how those two whelps had known what they had. It was preposterous, it was _outrageous_, that his most competent Master since Demise would be sabotaged by two children whose identities were none other than the hero and the goddess's descendant herself, before they had even gotten a chance to face the boy in green in battle. And they _would_ have won, too, his Master and he, as the hero couldn't have been older than ten at the time. Yes, the one time where he could have been victorious, where he could have finally tasted the hero's blood on his blade, the one time where everything seemed to be aligned _for_ them rather than against, when Fi was even still resting within the Temple of Time, they _still_ couldn't win. His Master had managed to obtain the Triforce of Power, but in the end, he was still captured.

And then the day of the execution was upon them, and Ghirahim stood by the wall, arms crossed, after having teleported into his Master's cell, the Gerudo doing nothing more but reclining on the cot in the corner, propped up on one elbow, with such a casual air that it made the demon want to spit, if he hadn't also had far more social graces than his Master ever cared to exercise. And no matter how much he glared at the man, no matter how many seconds ticked by, bringing them ever closer to the hour the Sages had decided on to be his end, his Master only looked bored, of all things, and any peering into his heart only told the demon more of the same.

How could it be possible, that his Master was about to be humiliated, that he was soon to suffer the shame of death while being cheated out of the honor of at least being slain in battle, and that didn't bother him… Did he at least have any idea how that made his servant feel, that he was soon to be disgraced by such a worthless Master who couldn't even achieve his goals when the only thing standing in his way were two snot-nosed brats? Was he aware of how completely and utterly he had failed? Was he, because as far as Ghirahim could tell, the man was completely oblivious!

"Do you still refuse my offer to help you?" the demon said at last, when the silence since their last conversation had become too much for him.

Ganondorf's eyes only made a lazy sweep across the room to where his servant stood, the same disinterested expression he had maintained this entire evening unchanged. "Are you still obsessing over that?"

"If you set me free, even just temporarily, I could butcher the Sages and release you from this cell. Then, we could continue…"

The man gave a slow, deep laugh in his throat. "How many times must I remind you that there is no 'we' here? The only one that matters here is myself, and I will succeed or fail by my own hand, not by that of an inanimate object. And don't think your hatred of me has gone unnoticed. I know very well how much you despise me. How do I know that you won't simply leave if I freed you?"

He didn't. "Because you are my Master, and I only exist to serve you."

His Master grinned. "That's exactly right."

Ghirahim looked away, at the single iron door that had the nerve to somehow be the one thing preventing his Master's freedom, besides the man's obviously thick skill, and gave a single shrug. "Well, I can't say that I understand how you can be so content to go to your death, but I suppose, as my Master, that is your right."

"For the last time, I don't plan on dying. I have in my possession the Triforce of Power, and that is all I will ever need. Until I have the entire thing, of course."

Ghirahim's attention returned to his Master. "If a mere one third of the Triforce is worth so much to you, should I take it that you no longer have any need of _my_ services, then?"

Ganondorf's laughter was much more raucous this time, and the demon's fingers tightened their grip on his arms. "When did I ever _need_ your services? _You_ were the one who needed _me_. You were so desperate for a new Master, and I gave you what you needed. You were just lucky I didn't leave you behind to rust when I grew sick of your chattering and your theatrics. You seem to forget that a sword is useless without its Master, but that is one thing I am fine with reminding you of as many times as it takes. But, if you choose to leave, then so be it. Once I am free of this place, and I can continue my search for the remaining pieces of the Triforce, I will be sure to find for myself a sword that _doesn't_ talk back."

Ghirahim stared at him before allowing his arms to make a slow descent back down to his sides, not once taking his eyes off the man who still had the audacity to smile at him after he had just spouted such drivel. And then he forced his eyes closed and drew in a deep breath before returning his gaze to the Gerudo, and he raised one hand to his torso and bowed low.

"If I am dismissed, Master, then I would like _permission_ to say but one more thing." He straightened, staring his former Master dead in the eyes. "My only hope is that your death is slow and painful, and my sole regret is that I won't be the one to bring about your end, for it would be so much more agonizing and prolonged if you were to die by _my_ hand."

"Bold words for a mere hunk of metal."

"And you seem surprisingly at peace for one who will soon suffer the death of a common criminal. But, I suppose that is no longer my concern."

Ghirahim rose one hand to snap his fingers, and he was gone in a cloud of diamonds, and though he returned to his sword, he didn't sever the bond between his Master and him just yet, for while he didn't believe the man's claim that he would be able to prevent the death that was surely coming, he also couldn't deny the existence of a growing curiosity about the man's fate, and sure enough, the Gerudo did indeed manage to break free, even killing the Sage of Water before they managed to subdue him and send him to another dimension.

The man was…impressive, for a human, at least, and though Ghirahim still had to allow himself to fade away, lest the Sages returned and thought they could keep him locked away here (that is, if they even recognized what he was), he continued to wait even now for the Gerudo's return. And he didn't believe he'd have to wait much longer, as for the first time since the man's banishment, the demon had sensed someone his Master had been working through here in the Realm of Light. A Twili, the very Twili who had cast much of Hyrule in twilight not so long ago, before the hero had so callously _fixed_ everything, which was quite a shame, as the fear he had sensed in the humans' hearts after the curtain of twilight had engulfed them had sent his heart aflutter with giddiness.

But, it was no surprise the Twili's efforts were undone as they were or that his life was snuffed out just the other day. Because he was weak. The only reason Ghirahim could sense him at all was because of his association with his Master, the Twili's thread tangled up in that of the Gerudo King's, and he knew the Twili was nothing more than a marionette his Master could make dance for him whenever he pleased. His Master really was an absolute fool to use someone so weak-minded when he had the Demon Lord at his disposal, but it was his loss. If the Gerudo preferred to use those that couldn't think for themselves as the sword spirit could, then he could just see his plans fail, then.

Oh, but if only he had allowed the demon to be free centuries earlier, he would have brought the man back long ago, if he didn't simply prevent his banishment to begin with. For Ghirahim would have still continued to serve this Master even if he was free. After those biting words, he likely would have sulked for a while. He was a big boy; he could be honest about such things. (When you were as gorgeous as him, you could let your dignity slip every now and then.) But, once he had recovered, he would have served the Gerudo King far better than his Twili puppet had, for Masters like him were far too rare to allow a few hurtful comments to come between them.

Ghirahim's head jerked up, and he jumped to his feet to face the direction of Hyrule Castle. While it was much too far to see, he knew something had just happened there as surely as if it was right before him, as the thread that tied his Master to him had just been pulled taut for the first time in centuries. His long tongue snaked out to lick at his lips. Oh, yes, he could almost taste the hero's blood already, for his Master had, at long last, been returned to this Realm. And now all Ghirahim had to do was wait for the two of them to be reunited again.

And so the demon continued to do what he had been forced to endure far too long in his existence, something he had not and would never get used to, and while he started out, what he hoped, would be a far shorter wait this time sitting cross-legged on the hill, eyes closed and his stunning face serene as he anticipated the moment he would finally have a Master again, he eventually gave this up in favor of pacing back and forth across the hilltop, until he stopped dead in his tracks, his face drained of the renewed patience it had held not long before. Because something was not right. Surely it would take some time for his Master to find him. Through their bond, he could direct the Gerudo right to him, to this very spot in the mountainside, though he wouldn't be surprised if it was also a while before the bull-headed man even realized to begin with how very much he needed an actually competent servant again. But, what Ghirahim could sense, even at this great distance, was that…no, this wasn't right at all…because it really felt to him that…no matter how unlikely it was…

A snarl ripped from the demon's throat as he raised quivering arms to his face, his hands twisted nearly into claws as if they wanted to tear off his own flesh. His Master, the man he had waited for all these centuries, and only because he had chosen a maggot of a Twili to serve him, when he already had a perfectly good servant at his disposal, he was actually fighting the hero! Without him! And what sword was he using! Because it certainly wasn't _him_, that much was certain! He had crossed the line! Ghirahim was usually quite lenient in dealing with humanity's _excessive_ flaws, but the Demon Lord could only be pushed so far!

He arched his back, clutching his forehead as he let loose a wail that was sure to make it clear to even the goddess herself how utterly _enraged_ he was, how his very heart was filled with the same violent storms that so often swirled about the peak of Death Mountain itself. He dropped his arms, his chest heaving, hardly able to stand in his outrage at what was happening, at how _deeply_ he was being insulted right now, and by a mere human, who should be groveling at his feet and pleading for forgiveness for making the demon wait so long.

That worm, that slug, that wasn't even worthy to breathe the same air as him, let alone be his Master, he should be able to punish that insolent human so severely, to make his existence so agonizing, he would even beg to be skinned if he thought there might be some small chance it would end his suffering just one second sooner. Yes, he _should_ be able to make this happen; it was his right as a superior being, but he couldn't, because the pig was much too far away, or else Ghirahim _would_ have gone to him right now. He would have even _helped_ the hero slay him, the Gerudo's existence was so offensive to him.

And if there had been any color to drain from his pale face, it would have, and the side of his lip twitched, for he felt the thread that bound him to that pig of a Master unraveling, snapping, one fiber at a time. No, it should be _him_ to slaughter that man, just like the swine he was! It was _his_ right! His!

Ghirahim dashed forward, nearly flying over the ground as he descended the hill, his mantle flailing about behind him, and then he was jerked backwards by the diamond in his chest that was currently hidden from view as he reached the limits of how far he could stray from his blade, and he gasped as he landed on his back in the dust. He went still except for the heaving of his chest, as he felt the last few fibers connecting him to his Master stretched tight, before the thread that had once bound them finally split, nothing holding him any longer to the man whose heart had just stopped many miles away.

The former Demon Lord blinked at the sky, and then he put a hand to his face, letting out a choked sob, his shoulders shaking, before he rolled onto his stomach and buried his face in his arms. Why did Fi always get what should have been reserved for him? When would it ever be _his_ turn? And people wondered how he could hate the goddess so, but she clearly had her favorites, and Ghirahim was obviously not one of them.

He lay in the dirt for some time longer, his tears eventually fading away into mere sniffles, before he pushed himself back up to sit on his feet and gazed down at gloves sullied by the sand clinging to them, and then he pulled them off, one after the other, to toss them away from himself before stopping to stare down at his hands. He had such lovely hands, and he saw far too little of them, and yet, somehow, he wasn't in quite the mood to admire them right now. He pressed these hands to his face and pulled them down, a most inefficient method of wiping tears away, and then looked down to find purple marring the ivory of his skin, a sure sign that his makeup was running. He must be a sight. With a sigh, he gave a half-hearted snap of his fingers, gloves returned to his hands and his eye shadow surely restored, before rising with less grace than he was normally wont to practice.

All this waiting had made him inexplicably tired, and looking about at the monotonous landscape surrounding him, where, frankly, _he_ was the most interesting thing here by far, he saw that there was absolutely nothing for him here, nor could his dowsing find anything else out in the world that was currently worth his attention. His useless lump of a Master was dead, the hero had won, and Fi had fulfilled her purpose. How touching.

And now, all that was left for either sword spirit was to rest and to wait for the next time they would again be needed, and yet such a thought did not shed much hope on the demon's heart. But, then again, a sword was _not_ useless without its Master, and Ghirahim wasn't about to prove Ganondorf's words to be correct.

If one had blinked at just the right time, they would have missed the Demon Lord's exit, as he was there one second and gone the next, all that remained of his presence the sinister blade hidden away in this forgotten spot in the mountainside. And on the rare occasions travelers managed to wander out this way, they would swear they heard a strange tune on the wind, though the ones who went to seek out the source of the mysterious sound never returned to ponder over it further, as the sword spirit once again had quite a bit of time on his hands, to spend however he saw fit. But, just because he was currently without a Master, it certainly didn't mean he was useless, and it definitely didn't mean he was lonely, for he, at least, had the best person in the world to keep him company until he found a new Master to serve. No, until the day he found a Master that needed _him_, not the other way around. For Ghirahim had become quite good at waiting. What was another several centuries?

* * *

I very much hope you enjoyed this story, and I hope the details I made up (that I thought way too much into, mind you) weren't too…weird. (Well, after the final boss in "Skyward Sword", Ghirahim's blade did just…dissolve into thin air. And it's more than possible he went somewhere else, you know. I mean, Fi isn't always found in one place, either. Though, her Masters are probably the ones responsible for leaving her in those places, while Ghirahim's always die in battle, and then where would he end up but stuck in some random place where his Master just got murdered…yeah…)

And I've found that the best way to properly write for Ghirahim is to use the thesaurus. Often. Anyway, please review and tell me what you think.


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